Clutch
by SubwayWolf
Summary: Top Gear. Richard Hammond embraces his confusing feelings for Jeremy Clarkson; in particular, Jeremy's hands. ...Mild slash.


**Something I dreamed up after becoming uninterested with a celeb interviewee on Top Gear and instead watching Jeremy Clarkson's hands flailing about whilst he was the interviewer. Enjoy!**

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><p>Richard Hammond has never had a great sense of direction. He knew his lefts and rights, but couldn't navigate his way to the bistro down the street even if you paid him.<p>

Unless he was filming for the show and trying to make James May look bad, Hammond never depended on his Satnav, mainly because most of his cars didn't have one. He would only use a Satnav if it were installed in the car, because they were cumbersome if they were set on the dash.

Maybe view obstruction wasn't a viable excuse, but it was it was enough for Richard to phone up Jeremy Clarkson and request to be driven from Brentford to a wedding in Harmondsworth.

Jeremy was a good friend, and thankfully free that day. However he was less than happy with Richard.

"How many times have you driven on the M4, Hammond?" Jeremy growled, his strong hands clutching the steering wheel of the '67 Mustang GT 390.

Richard sunk down into his seat, ashamed. "A lot."

Jeremy's grip tightened. "Right. How many times have I told you: drive west on the M4 for about ten miles. You're there. How difficult is that?"

Richard crossed his arms and looked out the window to his left, turning away from Jeremy and refusing to answer.

"You're acting like a child," Jeremy pointed out.

Richard had heard that one before. Numerous times. It didn't offend him, partially because he knew it was true. He knew Jeremy was full of comebacks, but comparing Richard to a juvenile not only seemed to be Clarkson's favorite, but also the most effective and suitable.

Secretively, Richard took a look over at Jeremy's hands. Hammond always had a thing for Jeremy's hands; it was weird in a way. However, Richard never talked about it out loud so nobody could judge its peculiarity besides himself, therefore it couldn't be deemed as either normal or unusual. In that result, it wasn't unusual, because nobody had ever determined if it was.

Richard loved the way Jeremy's hand were so relaxed yet in control when he drove. Jeremy had hands that were huge and powerful, yet gentle, which Richard thought was a lovely combination.

Hammond's mind started to run. He wondered what those hands felt like. He was curious if they were soft like their appearance or rough like their abilities. If only, Richard thought, if only he could hold Jeremy's hands in his, then all mystery about their touch would be resolved…

Richard's eyes widened and he looked away from Jeremy. What was he thinking! Holding Jeremy's hands? What a bizarre thing to consider!

Befuddled, Richard rolled down the window of his GT after feeling his face get hot. Wind poured out of the slit from the top of the window and engulfed the interior like wildfire (Jeremy was driving fast and violent airstream was a result), tousling Richard's hair and cooling down his pink cheeks. He let his eyes fall closed as a small grin spread across his face. He loved the cool air, the _woosh_ it made in his ears, and the way it rumpled his thick, brown locks.

The wind and its gentleness cleared the thoughts from his head. Relaxed now, he shut the window to eliminate the noise and instead concentrated on the beautiful scenery alongside the M4.

However, all the while when Richard was peering out the windshield, his line of vision drifted to the gentle grip of Jeremy's hands. Richard was still salivating at them, still fantasizing over them. No matter how much Richard tried to eliminate those thoughts, they kept returning.

Hammond sunk down further into his seat, his confusion returned. At that point, he was nearly on the floor of his GT Mustang, with its jet black interior and V8 engine and turbo-charged—

_Oh, those hands!_ Richard wanted to hold them, feel them running up and down his body, through his hair, down the length of his coc—

He shut his eyes, ridding himself of the image. Unfortunate for him, the visions reappeared in his head.

Richard, although upset with himself, was unable to stifle a grin. One spread out across his face at the thought of him reaching over the car and grabbing Clarkson's hand and just holding it there for the remainder of the ride. Although that would never happen, Richard still—

"_HAMMOND!"_ came from the other side of the car.

Richard's eyes shot open, the grin disappearing from his face.

"What do you think you're doing!"

It was then that Richard saw he _was_ holding Jeremy's hand, just squeezing it and holding it there in the air, like they were arm-wrestling backwards. Richard stared with his mouth slightly open, baffled at their physical contact.

Jeremy scowled with slit eyes, trying to pull his hand away but Richard's grip was too tight. "Hammond! Let go of me!"

Richard released Jeremy's hand. Clarkson pulled his hand back to the wheel, gripping it tightly. He watched Hammond carefully out of the corner of his eye.

Hammond sat up tall in his seat and made eye contact with Jeremy once more before turning away again, shifting away from Clarkson and crumbling into the corner of his seat. Hammond was frustrated with his subconscious act on impulse. And now, not only were things extremely awkward, but Jeremy was getting suspicious.

"Are you okay?" Jeremy asked. He sounded worried, but still had that notion of mistrust in his voice. "What was _that_ about?"

Richard was equally as confused. He wanted to say he didn't know, because that was the truth, but instead he said nothing.

Ignoring the conversation didn't help, however. Richard could still feel the fiery, blue-grey eyes of Clarkson burning into the side of his head, waiting for an answer. The stubborn Hammond refused to give him one.

Richard looked out the window and noticed they had reached their destination. He was unsure how long they had been there. Regardless, Richard didn't have the energy or enthusiasm to make any effort towards escaping.

The awkwardness between he and Jeremy had deflated his mood down to the point where Richard didn't even want to move, instead he felt like sitting there until he decayed, died, or until his body morphed into the leather seating of the Mustang GT 390.

But he had to say something eventually. If the plan of sitting in the car for eternity was rightfully executed, Jeremy was older therefore he would die first, and Richard would have to live the rest of his life feeling bad for not saying anything. So Richard decided to speak.

"I'm sorry," were the words he chose. Richard spoke them softly. "I don't know...what got a hold of me."

Richard was surprised that he actually brought himself to speaking. He didn't think he would've been physically able to. But the words had come out and, although they were broken and stuttered, that's what mattered.

Jeremy didn't reply. But had Richard said anything in the first place? Hammond himself wasn't entirely sure, so he just sat there a bit longer, staring out the window.

Suddenly Richard felt something putting pressure on his hand.

Something warm, with a strong grip yet a soft feel. It squeezed Richard's hand tightly, keeping it there and elevating his heart rate so considerably that it thudded against his ribcage and made a thumping noise in his ears. Richard shivered with excitement and broke out in a grin, electrified at the squeeze between his fingers.

And with a racing heart and a tint of red in his cheeks, Richard squeezed back.


End file.
